


Tis the Season

by mothjons



Series: Jon and Martin catch a break [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas, Domestic Bliss, Established Relationship, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, everything is fine and they're happy!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:07:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28047414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mothjons/pseuds/mothjons
Summary: A soft drabble of some festive decorating
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: Jon and Martin catch a break [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2055276
Comments: 19
Kudos: 130





	Tis the Season

**Author's Note:**

> I don't headcannon either of them celebrating Christmas, so this is more a ... wintery ... thing?? Overly fluffy and very indulgent xx

Warmth.

That was the word that always came to mind when Jon thought of Martin. It was a small warmth, one that had flickered and faded over the years, but had ultimately persisted – a small candle standing vigil in the centre of his chest. A warmth that spread just enough for Jon to feel it.

Between the gentle crackle of the fire, and the soft woollen arm draped over his shoulder, warmth was all Jon could feel in that moment. He murmured slightly, tightening his hold on Martin for a breath before slackening into a sigh. He could feel Martin chuckle, the soft reverberations rolling between them.

“Comfy enough?” he heard Martin ask, his voice tinged with a tease.

“Mmh,” said Jon. “Very.”

Martin laughed again, just as soft, and Jon felt him shift slightly as he reached forward to grab his mug. The sweet tang of black tea drifted upwards, and Jon’s eyes fluttered closed in the comfort. A slow beat passed, before Martin’s hand began carving a gentle line against his back. His thumb brushed over the wrinkles in his jumper, sending a streak of affection across his ribs. Jon let out a content hum. A kiss was pressed against his head, and then Martin patted his arm.

“C’mon,” he said, moving to stand. “You promised me we’d finish decorating before the end of the day.”

Jon groaned, his grip on Martin slackening as he rose. “We don’t even celebrate Christmas.”

“I know,” said Martin, tugging at Jon’s hand to prompt him upright. “Still looks nice, though.”

“Our flat looks nice, regardless.”

Martin wrinkled his nose slightly. “Just indulge me on some fairy lights, Jon. I promise we can go back to sad academia afterwards.”

“Sad academia?”

“You know what I mean,” said Martin, fluttering his hand about in a loose gesture. Jon finally rose to meet him, but did so with a sigh. Martin moved his hand from Jon’s, to his waist, and pulled him close, encompassing him between his arms. On instinct, Jon’s came up to rest across Martin’s shoulder’s. “It’s just some holy, we’ll live – I promise.”

“Lived through worse, I suppose,” muttered Jon.

“Oh – leave off, will you.”

“Fine, fine,” said Jon. “But no carols.”

“Deal.”

Soft music filled the room – one of Jon’s CD’S that had managed to survive, despite everything. It was a gentle melody that played, one that Jon swayed and hummed along to as he passed Martin thumb tacks to hold up their meagre spread of secular winter decorations.

“Did your Grandmother keep the decorations you made in primary?” asked Martin, words slightly muffled as he held a paper snowflake in his mouth. “You know, those awful paper garlands that always shed glitter, and those wonky paper snowmen? God, I always loved the week before the holidays in school.”

“We weren’t a Christmas-y household,” said Jon, “I brought them home, but – well, they didn’t exactly _fit_. Most stuff ended up in the bin, not that I minded. Always been lousy with a paintbrush.”

Martin hummed, nodding. “Mmh, yeah – my ‘Christmas crafts’ always ended up looking like they came out of some warped festive nightmare.” He paused as he tacked the snowflake to the wall, tilting his head to examine it. “Mum used to put them up, when I was much, _much_ younger. But, you know – ” his sentence concluded with a twist of his lips, and Jon gave his arm a comforting squeeze. “Can’t imagine she’d have anything nice to say about these decorations either, but – hey ho.”

“Well, I think they’re – ” he faltered as he searched for the word. “Appropriate.”

Martin snorted. “Look, it’s very hard to find non-Jesus based winter paraphernalia.”

“No, no, I agree,” said Jon quickly, raising his hands up. “Now everyone who visits can take comfort in the fact we know what snowflakes look like.”

_“Jon.”_

“I’m kidding, Martin,” said Jon, wrapping his arms around his boyfriends waist. “It’s nice. I like – I like doing this stuff with you. It feels wonderfully mundane.”

“Thanks?”

“After what we’ve been through,” said Jon, pulling away to look at Martin, and tucking a loose curl behind his ear, allowing his hand to rest against the curve of Martin’s cheek, “mundane feels quite remarkable.”

Martin smiled, his eyes crinkling gently as he did. His hand came up to loop around Jon’s wrist, and with his thumb, he drew an affectionate circle against his palm. “God, six years ago – if you’d told me I’d be – be decorating for Christmas – ”

“Winter.”

“Winter,” corrected Martin. “If you told me I’d be doing this, with you – God, I would’ve thought you mad. Might’ve even made a statement about it.”

“Don’t even start,” said Jon, with an eyeroll. He dropped his hand to Martin’s shoulder, and gave it a short squeeze. “Lets’ finish up, hm? Get started on dinner, and all that.”

Martin nodded, leaning forward to press a short kiss to Jon’s lips. “You go make a start. I’ve got a few more things to put up.”

“Alright.”

It was another twenty minutes before Martin appeared in their kitchen, immediately pulling down two wine glasses, and retrieving the bottle of red that had been left by the radiator. The vibrant colour sloshed easily into the glass, and Martin pushed it towards Jon, who was busy chopping veg for the soup. He placed his knife down, to lift the glass, swirling it slightly before taking a sip.

“That’s nice,” he said, with an appreciative hum.

“It’s the one Georgie brought round the other week,” said Martin. “I think it’s from Lidl.”

“Don’t act like you’re too good for Lidl wine, Martin,” said Jon, raising his brow over another sip.

“Never,” said Martin, with an exaggerate furrow of offence. “Was just remarking.”

Jon chuckled, placing his glass back down against the counter, and picking the knife back up. Then, he felt wide arms wrap themselves around his waist, and a warm presence against his back. Warm kisses speckled the nape of his neck. “Martin,” he warned, with no real weight. “It’s very hard to cook with you doing that.”

“Then stop cooking,” murmured Martin, pressing a kiss below his ear. Jon could feel his smile against his neck, and he rolled his eyes as the blush crawled up his face. He turned slowly, catching Martin’s face between his hands, and following the curve of his jaw with his thumb. Martin smiled, cupping Jon’s hand in his, and pressing a small kiss against Jon’s wrist. “I love you.”

Jon’s face softened, and he carded a hand through Martin’s curls. “I love you, too.”

They met in the middle, their lips soft and sweet against one another’s. Jon’s hands carved around the nape of Martin’s neck, pulling him down, as Martin’s hands rested against Jon’s hips. His fingers moved up and down, in languid motions, catching in the fabric of Jon’s jumper, before moving around to the small of his back, and holding him tight.

Their lips broke, faces now only a breath apart. It was Jon’s favourite place to be; where all he could see was Martin, each freckle, flicker and line of laughter that he had watched deepen over the years. Jon had seen everything once, and nothing compared to what was before him. What else could he ever wish to know, than that Martin loved him.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Holidays, folks! Hope whatever you have planned for this month is wonderful and pleasant, and if you have nothing planned - I hope that nothing is equally wonderful and pleasant xx  
> Come chat to me on tumblr @mothjons


End file.
